The Eleusinian Mysteries

All my life, I’ve had a mystical bent,
but I’ve never really had mystical experiences of any
kind. In my early college days,

I tried to study ancient Greek religion—
including the Dionysian cults—always eager
to look into the smoking cauldron. What was it

they had you stare into at Eleusis? Some strange
mirror? Somehow, you beheld the mystery.
Don’t tell anyone—it’s a secret!

Now join the others outside, shouting Mystics to the sea!
Now run down to the beach for some kind of
salty baptism ceremony! That’s all

I’ve ever been able to gather about
the Eleusinian Mysteries, which are also just one more thing
you have to recollect when you’re chasing down

the myriad beads of the big glob of mercury that was dropped
when you were marooned here—
the heavy head of Orpheus himself

floating down the river Styx singing
the pieces of you—
the people you meet, and the people you make.

I always felt that if I could inhabit the hearts
of the initiates at Eleusis, all my problems
would vanish, and I would be saved somehow,

but the anthropologists say nothing is known
about the Mysteries and exactly what
people experienced at them, preoccupied

as they were with their work, health, spouses, and kids—

some moment of clarity, presumably. But not just that.
They received eternal life!

The Young Night, Jorge Luis Borges

Already the lustral waters of night absolve me
of all colors and forms.
And in the garden the birds and stars proclaim
the longed-for return to the ancient norms
of sleep and of shadow. Already shadow has sealed
the mirrors that write the fiction of things.
Goethe said it better: What’s near removes itself.
Those four words cypher all twilight.
In the rose garden the roses stop being roses
and want to be the Rose.

La Joven Noche, Jorge Luis Borges

Ya las lustales aguas de la noche me absuelen

de los muchos colores y de las muchas formas.
Ya en el jardín las aves y los astros exaltan
el regreso anhelado de las antiguas normas
del sueño y de la sombra. Ya la sombra ha sellado
los espejos que copian la ficcion de las cosas.
Mejor lo dijo Goethe: Lo cercan se aleja.
Esas cuatro palabras cifran todo el crepúsculo.
En el jardín las rosas dejan de ser las rosas
y quieren ser la Rosa.

Satipatthana Skeleton

not man
not woman
only bones

not human
not animal
just calcium dust

I Am in Such a Good Mood, Goethe

I am in such a good mood,
I feel so happy and clear,
that if I made a mistake,
it wouldn't be an error.


From a Spanish blog that contains Spanish translations of Goethe poems. I haven't found the German text yet.

Estoy de tan buen humor,
me siento tan alegre y puro,
que si cometiera un error,
no sería error alguno.

http://rescatadosdelfuego.blogspot.com/2013/07/seleccion-de-poemas-johann-wolfgang-von.html

Adam Is Your Ashes, Jorge Luis Borges

The sword will die like the grain.
The crystal, not more brittle than the rock.
All things, your future of dust.
Iron is rust. Voice, echo.
Adam, the young father, is your ashes.
The last garden will be the first.
The nightingale and Pindar are voices.
The aurora is the reflection of the sunset.
Mycenae, the mask of gold.
The high wall, the raped ruin.
Urquiza, what the daggers leave behind.
The face that looks in a mirror
Is not yesterday's face. The night has worn it.
The soft weather chisels us.

What joy to be the indestructible water 

That runs in the parable of Heraclitus,
or the devious fire, but here,
In this long day that never passes,
I feel both lasting and derelict.

Pretty-Legs!

sixth grade boys' basketball team I was on
bunch of girls
feet dangling from the stage at the far
end of the gym—
all becoming possessed
by the hilarity
of my beautiful legs
Pretty-Legs!
they kept yelling

ringleader Kathy from Louisiana
tangy drawl
always sweet on
playing tether ball after school
barefoot
and when the rope had wound all the way around
and the ball got stuck
she shimmied up the pole

or in the public swimming pool
she pulled my trunks out
from my belly and put 

her face down in the water to look

hearing Kathy shout Pretty-Legs! 

was both flattering and embarrassing
I certainly couldn’t prevent her from doing it
and I have to say that even now all these years later
I feel changed

The Pest (First Day of Catholic First Grade)

We’d just arrived and were putting our stuff away,
when I noticed a pleasant-looking brown-haired girl
who had the same lunch box as me.
Overcome by what I think was an impulse of generosity—
I can share something with someone in this forsaken place!—
I approached and showed the girl my lunch box, but she
was not impressed in the tiniest, slightest least,
and cut me to the heart.